


all of me for all of you

by summerson



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: Avatrice, Beatrice is there to bring her back down to earth, Bottom!Ava, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, Love, Smut, Touch-Starved, Touching, Waaay in the future, absolute babes, ava's in over her head, i can't they're so adorable wtf, like slow burn all the way my friend, slow your roll, sunshine girl and repressed nerd all the way, top!Beatrice, what a brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26565577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerson/pseuds/summerson
Summary: It doesn’t take long for Beatrice to identify Ava’s affinity for touch, for Beatrice to define Ava’s explicit need and hunger for sensory stimulation. It’s purely compulsive and completely beyond her control as far as the nun can concretely tell. She catches the halo bearer in odd moments of sub conscious wanderings where her body drifts to the outlets naturally as if a moth to light.
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 27
Kudos: 297





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll just write a short fluffy one shot, nothing too heavy. *Falls into bottomless sinning Avatrice hell.* This was a complete accident. Honest to God did not see that coming. You’re welcome?

It doesn’t take long for Beatrice to identify Ava’s affinity for touch, for Beatrice to define Ava’s explicit need and hunger for sensory stimulation. It’s purely compulsive and completely beyond her control as far as the nun can concretely tell. She catches the halo bearer in odd moments of sub conscious wanderings where her body drifts to the outlets naturally as if a moth to light.

The strange textures of random objects: plastic wrappings from gas station fuel stops, the waxy seatings from the pleather interior van all five women have been living out of. The fabric of any of their available party’s uniforms, fingers caught in the sleeves and skirts like stray fish hooks in the river rush. And then the weight of Beatrice’s shurikens which she expertly monitors and forbids from entertaining in any other fashion than academic observation. Though Beatrice takes note of the preening posturing that follows afterwards, a smug self inflated prancing that laces her movements for the rest of the day, as if the younger had touched and been divulged a sticky writhing secret with being privy to such practices. She’s completely and wholly insufferable, much to the detriment of Lilith’s anger management.

But it’s not all she catches her in, paying close attention and mindfulness always in respect to Ava’s expanding explorations - careful to keep her from falling too deep and over head under the blind vulnerable curiosities. Beatrice will move the uncapped bottle of water from the dash because she sees the stray winging elbow knock it over before Ava can think to lean into the stretch. She moves the hotplate from the gas cans and watches Ava click the dial off and on absently for the _click click click_ of the interaction. She puts the child lock on in the passenger door. Just to be safe. And resides and revels in being privy to all the moments in between and soley stage center where Ava is free to wade in weightless wonder.

A liquid wandering hand swimming in the air stream in the front seat next to Mary, dancing in the wind waves like a stray wish.

Splayed out in the sun like an aching yearning flower open towards the sun, glowing in halo light like an ultra charged battery keyed up to eleven.

She overlooks it much of the time. How new the younger still is to everything. Sights. Sounds. _Sensations_...things so easily taken for granted in the yield and field of the spectral existence that the paralyzed girl had meandered aimlessly through for so long. Beatrice couldn’t imagine it, as hard as she willed and strained to fathom the slightest magnitude of nerve expounding feelings that pop rocketed across the girl’s skin when she grazed the small of her back here, kissed the side of her temple there…She could only guess with the way she uncurled like flowers, arched like electricity. Pushing and pulling and bracing against each gift Beatrice choose to shower down the crown of her head like blessed rain, chasing and running to and from these feelings that frighten and ignite her. The foreignness enamors her. The eagerness presumes her. And it’s simply unfathomably adorable, because as much vigor and giving as she manifests here in the bedroom cocoon they find themselves wrapped amidst, Ava is overwhelmed.

Beatrice can only smile as the younger girl gasps sharp and surprised then, immediate and ducking down into the inside of Beatrice’s shoulder as the sounds muffle and eek out of her to absorb into Beatrice’s chest. It’s so innocent. And…endearing in the most disarming manner that Beatrice could never had anticipated, arched over and leaning down on the Halo Barer, the vitality of which she’d been devotedly charged to guard with her life. Once a daunting and valiant task, a duty and sanction so holy and divine the devout would weep for love of heavenly deliverance, and now something intrinsic. How could she ever conceive a life that wasn’t for such an instinctual purpose? To protect? To keep? If this was the mission she would die for it gladly. Spend the rest of her life praying and supplicating at the altar if it meant _this._

Her hand runs up the rafters of Ava’s spine with a steady soothing hand. As calming and supportive as she could manage and will through the shower storm of feelings free falling through the surface of connection. She helps ease Ava’s next words out with the dancing coaxing touch…

“I can - “ Ava’s face angled out of the front of Beatrice’s shirt, mouth agape and gasping as Beatrice basked in the sunlight of this one blissful moment. She leaned down, cradling the soft cheek in the palm of her hand, holding her through the mess of words falling like water from the fount, from the spring. “I can do that too. I can do what you like too,” she pants shallowly, gripping a loose pair of fingers on Beatrice’s extended arm in the folds of her shirt sleeve - hooks dug into the give of her heart.

Ava’s face is flushed. Her hair is wild and free between her fingers. She can see the outlines of her face in the dark against the pillow in silhouette, an image cast in aura and haloed by a fuzzy static energy that Ava just - _emits_ into existence. Breaths cloud like shadows betwixt them. And Beatrice leans down further into the space between so she can inhale and inhabit as much of Ava as she can. Breathes it in like incense. And her eyes…

So earnest and open. So wide and honest and devoted. Beatrice feels blinded by its brilliance. By _her_ brilliance. It’s ridiculous how Ava looks at her in a way that makes her feel as if her heart is shattering to a thousand fracturing pieces, and then mending itself stitch by panging stitch with how Ava looks at her. With immense admiration, an intensity unmeasured. The complexity of gaze enough to bring this welling swelling warmth to a brimming overflow. Beatrice is aware of actual tears sheening a misty layer in her eyes.

And Beatrice feels the earth shift towards full blossoming glory in the light that Ava casts with her ever expounding aura. She curls in, breathing just as short -just as reverent as the girl bracketed and safe beneath her now. Leaning in to deliver a swift and protective lingering kiss to Ava’s damp face, just at the cross of her forehead…before nosing back down the halo bearer’s nose bridge and breathing in the scent with free and greedy lungs.

_Sunshine and Lavander._

Beatrice registers it with a foggy heady brain, everything gone a little loose and lax around the edges, embedded in the center like a molten coal burning down to center and core, here between them in the dark. She reaches up and moves with it as an extension of herself and the girl below, a noxious roiling substance that joins them together in movements like currents, like water. She cups at the hinge of Ava’s jaw and gently angles it down on the axis until her disoriented eyes trail and focus on Beatrice’s, their foreheads pressed together haplessly. Connected with breath, connected in mind. Connected in darkness, together.

“…I like to be needed,” she exhales, so softly, so reverently...a whisper of truth where none but they could cradle and hold between them, the pry and judgement of unwelcome thoughts forbidden and banished from here.

It’s more than an admission. More than a confession. Though she can’t think of what else it is if not the deepest and most earnest embodiment of such willful self subjugation. _Profession. Exaltation. Dare she fathom love._

Ava stills slightly, still quaking, still quivering, but bolstered with reserve as she gravitates forward into orbit - Beatrice drifting waywardly down in kind, lingering just over the curve and valley of Ava’s face. She doesn’t have to lean back to feel the smirk quirking up against Beatrice’s own lips curl insufferably. “Cute,”

_Beatrice loves._

“And…” Ava continues as she trails down and prods maddeningly at he rise in Beatrice’s neck, tickling at the sensitive skin absently, “ridiculously sexy, by the way,” she intones with a winnowed willowing whisper that dissipates in the air as it enters. Gone from sight. Gone from here.

Beatrice smiles and lunges forward to capture it. Lips suddenly latched to open willing mouth, sweet and wet when they come together, Beatrice easing downwards in one fluid motion from her hands to forearms, and lower still until she is all but squashing the smaller girl into the mattress and pressed up close through their rumpled clothes, running her tongue in and across glossy shiny teeth before delving deeper in to lave across the space inside. For the longest time, there is no division to speak of. Just hapless voidless melding of the matter in between. A tie and twist of limbs and body that Beatrice can swear she can feel Ava's heartbeat in her own chest - breaking open with light. The halo between her shoulder blades - keening in a whir of delight. It's depthless. It's infinite. It's perfect. Ava breaks the kiss to gasp and pant raggedly through the feeling, eyes wide before shuttering closed tight and bracing as the breath gallops and expands her chest to a quick and statacco beat.

“Shhhh…” she whispers. Backing off slowly with the best intentions and give Ava time. But she’s cut short when she feels Ava’s hands jolt from her complacent sides gripped into the top cover, quickly looping around and under her arms to bring her flush back against body heat and warmth.

“ _Ah..!”_ Ava cries out once and her head curls in, teeth gripping and biting down on her knuckle looped under and over Beatrice’s shoulder, her other hand grasping tight to keep the older woman fixed and in place. “ _Mmmmhh…!”_

“Shh…”

_"I - …nnggh, I - …faughk…!"_

Beatrice allows her head to turn into the side of Ava’s head, near her hairline and close to her ear. Close so that it’s easier to define where they don’t touch than where they do. Because that space is purely undefinable to the senses, lost to the world somewhere deep in thought and theory alone. In infinity.

It knocks her off her feet and sends her spiraling. Upheaves and barrages all sensible constraints, holds, and control to a point she’s not sure if she can say where she is anymore. She can’t imagine what Ava must be feeling…

“Slow down...” She implores. The words Ava had been reduced to deteriorate to simple aching noises. A whine that croons and keens from a moan and curls into a cry at the curt tail finish. A gasp that stutters into a chasing breath. She can see how it blurs and panics, see how it takes hold and clutches in the way her fist digs and twists at her shirt. Beatrice’s heart can’t take it. “Slow…” she soothes, “I’m not going anywhere,”

_A choked cry._

“I’m not going anywhere…”

Beatrice weighs down and bears in without implicitness this time. Just as close, just as caring, but grounding and anchoring. Pressing down into the tremors that jumpstart and spasm freely through Ava’s knees that kick out from below, pushes back against the squirming roll of hips, digging heels, arching back. All that should be contained now set loose on the body like an electric storm.

_She gives so much_

Beatrice wills her peace. She pulls up just enough to reach back and intertwine their fingers, both pairs of limbs falling with a soft _thump_ pressed back down on either side of Ava’s head, hair splayed out like river spun gold. Ava’s grip is strong as they struggle to find purchase.

_"I don’t want to be alone,"_

It falls through the shower rain of noises. Shifts through the musky scent that wafts up around them and fogs the surroundings and muddies the thoughts. Forget oaths and divine duties. Forget cripple hearts, orphaned feelings. _Beatrice loves._

_A whimpering plea._

_"I ‘ove you,"_

The next few movements are spacious and devoid of discernible definition, but gradual and fluid like the drifting of oceanic currents. The slow and reaching motion of Ava’s front pull across and rise up until they are all but rolling down through each other in the undertow. Magnificent and powerful as drifting cosmic forces. Mountains move, thunder rolls, and she swears she can witness the weight of the sun impact and crash to earth like the clash of heaven and hell. She struggles to keep her own loosened sounds to herself after failing to encage them between her teeth, her jaw unclenching once - twice as a cry tears out her throat and she has to lean forward to bury her face into the side of Ava’s head and the pillow. Sees stars and galaxies rip and tear through the laws of physics and divine will itself in the pixelated dark behind her eyelids. Ava’s own symphony of wonder aching down from its peak into a silent open mouthed winnowing. Eyes closed, face listless.

_Unbound_

_Unburdened_

_Free_

Beatrice gathers herself quicker, strains to do so but breathes and loses herself in the sight before feeling something in her gut, in her mind unmoor when she feels her body sink low enough to kiss and nibble at the crease of neck and shoulder. Laving slow and appraising, already rocking at a slow and ramping pace where she can feel the wetness pool and dampen their pants, their sheets. She loves the sounds, the noises that she can tease out - string out and breathe when they treble out raw and uncensored by Ava's waning inhibitions.

“I love you, too.” She writes into her skin with silver strings that shine like fishing lines in the dark across black open waters of sea and skin. “I love you, too,” Across the plains of her abdomen where her fingers dare to trickle under shirt to pet at the smooth underbelly they find waiting for her.

“I love you so much. I love you so much it hurts,” She confesses freely, there’s absolution in a punishment as sweet and depthless deep as this. Beatrice kicks out an elbow to arch and prop herself up enough to see and move a damp strand plastered against the white sheen across her skin. Her shoulders and back stretching over the canvas when she extends a curled crooking hand, the bird wing bone of her thumb and forefinger gently swiping across dappling forehead like tension on the water's surface to break. She breathes out slowly, taking her sweet time. “Look at you…”

Beatrice doesn’t know if Ava can understand her, or even hear her when she whispers more confessions, more prayers subscribed in her name. She’s well and truly gone beyond anything but the chasing motion of her hips as Beatrice humps through the clothes still separating them, the sounds floating through nothing but sweet. But the words that struggle and rise up make her dig in for one more crashing impact that sends Ava rigid first, watches it hit deep inside her brain like a trainwreck, before she follows and finally slumps full and slack into Ava's front and rests her head in the cove of her neck and clavicle. Mouthing at the ridge and bone underneath where she falls just to let her know she's there. She's here. She wouldn't dream of ever not being here. Not anywhere else, with anyone else, but in the arms that come up to curl into her hair, rake across her scalp kneading and receptive to the feel underneath. Beatrice smiles between the breathless panting, swallows to unparch her throat and smiles again when her face strains and slacks to the physical shock. Overflowing. Overflowing.

The aftercare is as depthless and soft as the height of passion, lost in drifting phantom motions that eddy out like a receding tide line slipped past the rocks. Drawing back to somewhere in self and origin like an up draft, like a sight. Beatrice’s body sheltering Ava’s underneath and Beatrice's hand slipped under Ava’s shirt, pressed up against the warm thrumming metal that's still singing hallelujah under the raised scarred skin. She presses into it and calms it as much as she cradles Ava underneath her chin, looking down when she finally comes back to body and finds Ava’s gaze ambling up with satisfied crinkling eyes.

_The halo thrums beneath her palm and she swears she can hear it singing like a choir of angels._

“ _You’re so beautiful…”_ it sounds out like a sob. Still disjointed and a little unawares, as if Ava has yet still to fully emerge. And it draws Beatrice’s own wet incredulous whimper from her lips. She just couldn’t help but do everything whole self and heart to sleeve to boot. It was so true to character and - _brilliant,_ Beatrice can’t fathom how she suspected anything less.

So she laughs, so clear and clean it transcends and sounds into the dark heady air like heralding holy light and church bells, tears and all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ….’can I watch?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite my better judgement I told myself that if this broke 200 kudos I’d write a 2nd installment. Maybe if we can get 300 I’ll do another one???…Merry Christmas ya filthily animals
> 
> (Also, if you were here before I kinda went back and did some edits on the first one too so...enjoy????)

_She can’t look at her_

They’ve been traveling westward, coastward…ricocheting off countries and border towns like a pinball against the levers - bouncing and zig zagging evasively through European vistas faster than charters and all of Interpol combined. The essential nomadic lifestyle they’d all been forced to adopt was tiresome at best, disparaging at most. And with Mary on point, Camila entrenched in security detail,and Lilith relegated to a relatively benched position as navigator, Beatrice had self designated the all in all pertinent role of divine babysitter amongst their roving band of crusaders.

Ava had yet to gain a fixed hold on her energy emittance, never quite able to narrow any focus to her explosive blasts past a lesser radius rather than a focused charge -and that didn’t even begin to graze the surface of her ‘flighty’ relationship with levitation. Indeed, despite the of originality of Ava’s exposed abilities it was still all very much touch and go. The days in between travel and roving further south were occupied with training to a degree of experimentation and were otherwise parsed with a fair amount of tutelage to catch Ava up to studies (on her own surprising request). Between training the budding bearer and blitzkrieging the wholeside of Switzerland there was little time to partake of sight seeing…

And yet,

Beatrice found herself in a push and pull more dichotomous than opposing poles, than magnetic fields or dual winds combined. Driven to and compelled to turn towards prohibited vices more engraved than her earliest prayers and consecrations before she knew she was committed to them.

And the landscapes, driven past France’s fields and yields of wheatlands and saw mills, valleyed pastures and village cobble centers dotted far away on dark wing silhouettes in the eves…paled in comparison.

She can’t look at her

.

.

.

But she can’t _not_ look at her.

There’s an insurmountable attraction. An internal compulsion that steers her thoughts and body without dual process and thought. It reveals itself like a crack in the pipes - a leak so gravitational and inevitable the frustration seems childish and immature in hindsight; pitfall tells collecting and pooling like water through a sack, seeping, bleeding, weeping through the seams like liquid longing - a wayward side eye, a cursory overview, a lingering that can’t illicit full explanation. _Just to see…_

Beatrice catches herself red handed at what seems almost constant, too willing and too eager to fall into an invisible magnetic orbit that she must actively pry and peel away from. Far too late in to be subtle when the chair rakes against the wood grain, when her gaze is too intent to be idle. Her face ablaze and her chest hollowed out in a tingling damning free fall as she sneaks outlines of Ava’s shoulders, the slender flow of her hands grasping onto hers, the fit of her clothes. The shilloute of her jaw…her face - nose, cheeks, brow, lips against the golden hour sun shower breaking through the moving window when she turns from the rolling pasture lands and smiles at her. It’s obvious. It’s broadcasted.

It’s pathetic.

And if it’s not Ava who’s catching her in these moments of unabashed weakness, it’s her sisters…

She’s sure Mary of all of them had deduced the worst of it long ago, minimal gestures of trailing smiles and condolences made frequent and light. And that, as far as she was concerned, she was resigned to be content with. But she hadn’t expected to find Camila, of all people, seeking to give Beatrice relationship advice in a rather indiscrete open market on their way coastwards while perusing the fruit stalls - stating rather bluntly that ‘all relationships require a subtle degree of open communication and vulnerability’ if they were to prosper and procure success.

The gestures are appreciated. The forwardness is not.

And the resulting fluster and ungracious devolution of Beatrice’s composure said as much as she hastily petered away to the vegetables. She doesn’t know how to navigate this side of things. And even given as much as she was aware and conscious towards it, within and definition of herself as ever present - …it was foreign.

Resigning Ava to the peripheral was not. And it wasn’t as if Beatrice wasn’t content to wade in that glow second handedly…its warmth and emittance no less even from so far away. Energy she could touch, gravity she could feel; it was a halo brim of sun that casted and settled across the surface of water without ripple, enticing and promising of more - so imploringly that Beatrice swears she could hear it sing like violin strings…if only it didn’t sound so sweet.

And yet to see it so whole and so real - like light made skin, like love made bone. The halo bearer and nun being pressed up so close on their sides, faces even closer and wading in weaves of golden bracken hair - trading movement in the dark like liquid displacement. Equilibriant. The electricity of currents run down her spine like droplets of water with each echo their kisses resonate from her supplicating lips. Everything she did - everything she does - right here, right now…drowns…

_She shuts her eyes_

_._

_._

_._

‘Bea...?’

She shudders at the sound. Her name never spelt or sewn so tenderly by any voice of her life…risen up like the incense of vespers and consecrating prayers sent updrafted like birds to heaven. Unannounced, a hand rakes through her hair, swept back in combing strokes through the roots of her scalp and down to her nape. The younger girl’s fingers linger and soothe at that patch of skin…daring something inside furl, uncurl…she can’t help but bend to its beckon…

_She’s absolutely hopeless_

But it’s dark behind her eyelids. Her breaths are shadows, clouding around her face and curbing off the bow of Ava’s neck like a riptide against the razor rocks and coral shoals. It seizes a terrible fear of the depths deep within. A fear of the untold, a fear of the forbidden. A fear of the unseen. She clutches on so tightly…wants to weep at the freeze and lock of limb now held within with everything so close and finally in sight. Beatrice can feel the halo bearer’s lips on her forehead, her face moved to nestle in her crown and hair hugging, holding, close…patient. She buries deeper. But there’s nowhere deep enough that isn’t composed of Ava’s scent, Ava’s touch, Ava’s energy here in the soft give of her neckline and supple skin…it’s a terrible place to hide.

Aside the fact that the halo bearer’s heartbeat is unfettered and sure in the dim that she feels drawn to regardless the suffering it induces. Steady and unafraid here against the side of her cheek, her ear pressed close to pulse in an effort to mold closer, sew tighter - coiling together all in a culmative out wash that makes this encounter so confusing, so enticing, so torturous Beatrice feels it eeking out through her very soul.

_And then her face, summoned up from the shadow and memories of the French day market, where her hair falls free and sun washed amidst the crowd of merchant tents and pedestrians. Eyes seeking and furtively flickering past heads and faces. Lilith nearby, safely steering the younger girl out of flow and current even as she stubbornly pursues the strain of struggle in reaching out. Beatrice can feel Camila preening besides her elbow without needing to look. Of course it hardly matters. Because Ava’s eyes are alighted like stars, connecting and recognizing her own from leagues away across the cobble center, flickering happily as she seeks to flow to passage through a throng of bypassing crowds - her hair swaying fro when her chin cuts back up to check that Beatrice hasn’t hastened away and further flown; Beatrice smiles._

The young nun braces against her sworn, lips only a little wet to the skin when she gives quiet breath to voice.

‘can I…’

Her breath stutters across the bearer’s slender collarbone. Ava’s eyes shuttering slightly at the inviting sensation. A tempting gesture caressing down low in the cove of her neck where the older woman has gathered and pooled to gravity. The covers rustle softly when she rotates her hips further in, rolling tighter from front to front under sheets and warm darkness. Beatrice breathes in, her chest rising like the tide bringing in the moon. If courage be found, let it be unearthed here and now.

…

…

…

….’can I watch?’

It’s a good solid moment of silence as it hangs between them, voided and pinned high above in full clarity for everyone to see. The room is washed in haze, a little pale hue of moonlight shifting past the panes through the cottage iron lace window. And it’s so quiet; Beatrice can feel her limbs go stiff and cold with each passing moment as Ava’s pulse gradually fills each beat of silence.

When she answers, her response is a small incredulous trill that bubbles at the center of her shuttering chest, rising up past her lips like breath. It’s not quite a laugh, but it’s kind; it’s sweet. Ava’s air and heat pressing out and imbued with spirit as it flies - the sound of which as good as a flare set sparked on the dark brine salted waves of Beatrice’s trembling soul.

‘oh, Bea…’

Beatrice doesn’t realize how tight her chest had knotted, almost tempted to reach up and twist a fist into the fabrics of her sleep shirt and dig deep for a heart. All the while Ava’s hand squeezing softly at the back of her neck, pulling back gently as she easily shepards Beatrice’s head back and tilting so she has to look her. Her brow gone lax at the crown and crease of her eyes. The ease soaked deep into her muscles.

Ava’s eyes are foggy…

slightly bemused…

_and so willing_

‘of course you can watch…’

Beatrice releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding. And all Ava does is chuckle in a sleepy murmuring tone, ’it’s all for you anyway,’

Their eyes connect, joined and fused together past space and time like bridges over canyons. Like leagues of ocean and coral trench parted in search of the promise land. Beatrice cannot consciously or reasonably tell where her soul begins and where Ava’s ends - if it even does. Not here, wherever they are…foreheads pressed together...noses knocking gently…Beatrice is drifting back down to chest, eyes shuttering closed as she imprints a kiss right where Ava’s heart beats with ichor. Each caress of lips an impart of as much adoration and praise either body could bear. Another kiss. And another. Reverent with each swelling gesture, yet fervent and energetic in rigor - still so eager to please. She is dutifully bound to her ministrations, branding and pressing her admiration into the surface and down to the core with teeth and tongue until Ava is gasping into top of her hair. Grasping at the thick midnight strands falling over Beatrice’s shoulders from behind as she halfway sidles up and atop the younger girl, hot breath prickling across her front.

Timeless moments drift in fuzz and haze, until the formless entity that possess their shared darkness seeps deep in through skin; Ava’s eyes fall free into bliss, Beatrice’s slipping open as something within releases.

.

.

.

It’s immediately immersive. Immediately intoxicating, watching Ava’s face, her hands, her shoulders twist against the pillows and mattress pad from below. It’s the movement of water. The movement of space - dust in the light of golden hours and noxious curving motions all bled into each other. The curve of her face changing hue, from dark to moonlit light as her neck cranes back. The whites of her teeth dug down into piercing giving lip. Beatrice eyes strain upwards to see, stray hand branding swirls and whorls of patterns on Ava’s satin soft side underneath her shirt to reassure and wade.

Her body is the void.

Her skin is the night sky.

Her heart, the moon.

_Beatrice, a small and reverent observer, stargazing on the beach and shore surf below_ _…too small to even fathom the most basic shape of the heavens above…_

She can already feel her veins seep in towards addiction with every little trace of essence Beatrice can draw from the source.

The older girl flicks her tongue to it like honey to taste against the girl’s breastbone, revels in the immediate reactive response as more of Ava comes up to press and present. Beatrice’s eyes intent and engaged as the nun slowly trickles upwards, licking and tasting the flavor of salt beaded up the rise of neck. Ava groaning encouragingly, fingers knotted tighter in her hair as she ambles up higher, and higher, and higher.

Beatrice knocks out an elbow for leverage to better see, hovering as one arm rocks out and stray hair strands fall across her lover’s open face. She pauses to breathe, shoulders rolling with a pleasant ache - muscles stretching like chorded power underneath skin and fabric as she looks on.

Ava’s eyes are scrunched, active underneath her eyelids as they flicker and flash unrestrained and free. Beatrice likes to see the strings pull and how observe how readily Ava responds to each tug and prompting nudge. The way her gasps pull different when she hovers over the apex of shoulder and neck, the way her throat bobs when Beatrice moves to frame and hold steady at the hinge of jaw (because Ava - as stubborn and endearingly willing as she was could never seem to take the heat of it without having something to hold her to it.)

The younger girl’s head turns to the side; she’s panting, chest rising like quick rain patter and hummingbird wings. But she’s holding the older girl down to her neck and lets out a whimper of frustration at how difficult it is to stay still and receive, crooning every now and then when Beatrice’s hand begins squeezing down her arm, elbow, wrist, hip…reminding her she’s here intent to stay.

Ava’s hand moves to clutch at the elastic band of Beatrice’s sweatpants when the older girl begins drawling spirals right on her hip bone. Each swirl and sway of wayward pass drawing up the edges of her tank and planing underbelly. Sinking slower…sinking lower…so gradual under the folds of fabric that the eventual intrusion colors something tender. The joining like tide waters and breath as Ava intakes what Beatrice exhales out. Their faces are so close, and Beatrice is so careful as all of her lowers down and against until her middle and ring are hilted as far as either can give - until the sweat on her brow is smoothing across Ava’s. Both of their conjoined frames turn rigid and laxing for what seems like infinite existence with the adjustment.

Beatrice is entranced and bound to the expression splaying and rendering across Ava’s features. Mouth shuttering listless in awe of some voiceless untouchable divinity. Her body twitching to the foreign sensation, but eager to accommodate and accept with a few coasting movements. It takes time for her hips to settle and eddy to a hidden rhythm, but Beatrice doesn’t feel rushed…she’s enamored simply watching the muscles around her eyes pull, lax, pull again…almost in pain…almost in bliss… _free…_

_She can’t look away_

_“Oh holy father…”_

_She never wants to look away_

Amidst the enrapture Ava cries out and digs her nails into the front of her shirt, pulling harder and insistent when the emptiness pits further - demanding attention.

The young nun blinks and moves in close, just so into orbit that a single tilt of her head could bring them crashing back together. She breathes the words in against mouth and wetness so there be no indiscretion. ‘I’m here…I’m here…’

It’s quiet. It’s soft. And Ava’s face melts with the sentiment.

_She’s here. She’s not running away anymore._

The entire exchange is moving enough to demand another passioned and decided kiss, eyes caressing every facet and faze they can treble and settle across while she goes, drinking it in like nectar from the petals of blooming flower. The warmth is pooling down deep in her center, and her leg is notched tightly down below in the knock of knees to keep Ava from scrabbling in her excitement. But her legs occasionally kick out when the pads of her fingers graze just deft and sure enough to home that a spasm brings volts rocketing through their connected nervous system. Beatrice can feel every shift, every tremor, every aching break that now has Ava crawling towards salvation, calves and hips cramping and frustrated as they seek outside of conscious thought.

She cries out at a particular dive, warmth seizing and gripping tight like a vice, hands scrabbling under Beatrice’s shirt onto her bare flexing shoulders. The muscles of her back pull with the resounding pulse as she returns a decisive push closer.

The sounds grate somewhere in the back of Ava’s throat, straining softly and uninhibited.

She gasps, clutching harder so that the nails dig a little across shoulders. ‘Please, please, please,’ she croons.

It’s breaking something open with its honesty.

‘I need it. - I want it,’

‘You can,’ Beatrice pants back, fingers rolling deftly to help her. ‘You can have it,’

_‘Bea - ‘_

_Take it_

Beatrice readjusts the forearm she’s heavily leaning on so that she can hold the side of Ava’s head still from thrashing to the side, thumb swirling warm patterns under her cheek bone. She sinks just enough that her body presses and corners deeper into the memory foam and their bodies have lost definition in each other. The race of her hips picks up incrementally, a little off beat, a little erratic and tilting off a delicate axis of balance.

_‘There you go…see? There you go…_ ’ Ava’s head throws back sudden and strained, the ridge of her neck damp and humid with heat as it breaks against the dark in silhouette. Strings of wet hair plastered across her forehead as Beatrice strokes in slow rolling beckonings deep within warmth and hold. So close. So wet. ’ _So smooth…’_

_Ahh - !_

_Ava -_

.

.

.

Beatrice didn’t notice when Ava’s eyes had drifted back open. Somewhat…They’re lidded and droopy with content as she looks down at Beatrice, who still has yet to catch her breath as she stares back - cracked open so thoroughly there’s no segment of foundation left unshaken. She’s trembling from its aftershocks, Ava’s hand eventually trebling up and holding her together by the cheek.

Neither think to shy away, too leveled and burned ragged to move; she’s not even sure she wants to. Content to splay across here and float, an unphasing curtain drawn back at the rungs revealing nothing but what they already knew and now see.

Ava’s hands reach up and draw down the sides of her face, thumbs rubbing gently underneath her eyes and through the tears wetting her cheeks. She didn’t know she’d started crying.

_‘You’re beautiful…’_

_._

_._

_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really isn’t as good as the first one, but I refuse to let my canon babes fall prey to lesbian bed death. Even if this kind of stuff is really hard to do without weed, ughhh…I cry. 
> 
> Everyone send prayers to the weed gods that I get my hands on something soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok but…who else totally thinks Beatrice is the legit service top to end all service tops and Ava is queen of the pillow princesses? Just me? Just me. Ok, chill. But yo seriously, I have fallen hard for these canon babes and do not see an exit in sight anywhere. Many more works to come.
> 
> Please comment freely and constructively. Feedback, both positive and critical, helps more than you know.


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